Page 37 of Surfside Sisters

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Three evenings later, as she was driving home from work, her cell buzzed. Keely parked her car in the driveway before checking it.

A message from Isabelle:

I hate him. He’s an imbecile. I did everything I could to change his mind. If he really loved me, he’d stay in school. And I suppose if I really loved him, I’d love him regardless. So it’s good we broke up. Thanks for trying to help. I’m back at Smith now, and I’m going to concentrate on my courses and the hell with men.

As she was stripping off her dirty shorts and T-shirt, her phone buzzed.

“Keely.”

“Tommy.”

“I bet Isabelle has called you.”

“No, but she messaged me. It sounds like she’s not happy with you.”

“She’s not. She told me we’re done. So I think I can take you to dinner, if you’ll still go with me, and I won’t feel guilty and neither will you.”

Her heart did a somersault. She was just about to step off a cliff and she didn’t know how far down she would fall. She didn’t care.

“I’m free tonight,” Keely said.

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He took her to Le Languedoc, one of the best restaurants on the island. He parked on Broad Street and as they walked, he reached out and took her hand. Shops were still open in the evening. People—summer people and year-rounders—still strolled the streets. Keely knew Tommy was sending a message to anyone who knew them. She guessed she was sending a message, too.

They had a table in the corner, perfect for intimate conversation. Tommy ordered a good bottle of red wine to share.

“You’ll never save up money for a boat spending that kind of money for wine,” Keely teased.

“Some things are more important than boats,” Tommy told her.

The way he gazed into her eyes made her shiver. Defensive, she asked, “What would Isabelle think of us right now?”

He didn’t sound angry or even mildly concerned. But he didn’t seem to take her question lightly. “I don’t care what Isabelle thinks. Let’s talk about something else.”

He was so intense. She couldn’t speak.

Tommy said, “Okay, ask me ten things you need to know about me.”

“Um, favorite food?”

“Clam chowder. The way I make it.”

Keely nodded. “Favorite music?”

“Everything.”

Keely smiled. “Um, birth date?”

“June tenth.” Tommy took her hand and rubbed his thumb lightly over her palm.

“I can’t think when you’re doing that to my hand,” she told him.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Keely smiled, shaking her head. “You really are terrible.”

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